


Heartache number three was when you called me

by iriswallpaper



Series: Heartaches By The Number [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cheating, Emotional Infidelity, Infidelity, John and Mary's Wedding, M/M, Masturbation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Season/Series 03, Sherlock Holmes Teaches John Watson to Dance, Unsafe Sex, everyone is morally bankrupt, scenes in between/concurrent with S3 on-screen events, waltzing nude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gives John waltz lessons, but John can't keep his hands off of his Best Man.</p><p>Scene-based fics that are concurrent with events in S3. This is not an S3 fix-it fic.</p><p>HEED THE TAGS because everyone is morally bankrupt in this fic.</p><p>Title from the song "Heartaches by the Number," a popular country song written by Harlan Howard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartache number three was when you called me

“This,” Sherlock motioned toward his chest and left hand with his right, “Is the frame. It’s the support, the space your partner will occupy while you lead her round the floor. Remember, your right hand indicates direction, your left supports your partner’s position. See, thus.”

Sherlock held his right arm out at shoulder height with a slight crook in his elbow. His fingers were slightly curled, palm facing out. His left hand was about a foot in front of his body, elbow bent, palm facing his body. “Keep your body erect, shoulders back. Think ‘Attention,’ that should do it. You don’t want to lean into your partner or hang on her. You are the structure within which she will dance. Now come.”

With a weary sigh, John stepped into Sherlock’s personal space. He raised his left hand and curled it around Sherlock’s right. Sherlock laid his left hand lightly against John’s shoulder blade. “Your partner will lay her right hand lightly against your shoulder.”

John cupped Sherlock’s shoulder with his right hand. “No, not on top. Lightly against the shoulder seam of your jacket.”

John moved his hand to the seam of Sherlock’s dressing gown. “If you were wearing a jacket,” John grumbled. “And what makes you think Mary even knows how to waltz?”

“She does. I asked her. And a good dancer can lead anyone, even a partner who doesn’t know how to dance. I don’t think you have time to develop into a dancer of that level, but I can at least tutor you enough so that you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“We could just stand on the dance floor and sway back and forth like a couple of teenagers at a school dance.” John’s eyes twinkled.

“Absolutely out of the question. I am composing a waltz for your wedding. You will waltz. You will not sway like spotty teenagers and grope each other on the dance floor to my original composition.”

John’s eyes twinkled again. “ I don’t know, groping each other like teenagers sounds pretty good to me.”

Sherlock huffed and opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the door to the flat swinging open and Mrs. Hudson breezing in. She lifted a hand to her heart and exclaimed, “Oh, isn’t this lovely! Teaching John to dance. Oh, won’t Mary be so pleased!”

Sherlock dropped his arms. John took a step away. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. Yes, I think she’ll be pleased.” John crossed the room to take the plate Mrs. Hudson was carrying. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sherlock told me you’d be by today, so I made the orange walnut bread you always liked.” 

John took a slice of spongy bread and bit deeply. “Delicious. You outdid yourself this time, Mrs. Hudson.”

“I’ll leave you two to it then. Have a nice lesson.” Mrs. Hudson closed the door on her way out.

John sat the plate down, thn turned the lock on the doorknob and went to the windows and drew the curtains. He returned to stand in front of Sherlock and lifted his arms into position. “Afraid someone will see us dancing?” Sherlock tried to ask lightly but his voice caught on the last word.

John shook his head. “No. Not dancing.” He laid his hands gently on Sherlock’s cheeks and drew him down for a kiss. Sherlock relaxed into the embrace and returned the kiss, then remembered the dance lesson. He straightened and resumed his waltz pose and lecture.

“Waltz music is written in triple meter. Three four time, count of one-two-three. You lead with your left foot on one. Like so. Follow me.” Sherlock stepped to his left and John followed. “On the balls of your feet, John. Lightly. But not so much that you tiptoe. Good, that’s good. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. Good.”

John halted Sherlock’s motion. Slowly, he slid his hands down Sherlock’s sides and around his hips, drawing him firmly against John’s body. “God, Sherlock. Feel what you do to me.” John rolled his hips, pressing one knee between Sherlock’s. They kissed, open mouthed and messy, until John slipped the dressing gown from Sherlock’s shoulders and threw it onto the sofa. He pulled the hem of Sherlock’s tee shirt, drawing it over Sherlock’s head and tossing it with the dressing gown. “I want you to dance for me,” John murmured, his mouth an inch from Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock closed the gap, nipping at John’s lower lip, then squared his shoulders. “We’re dancing. Come on.”

John slipped his hands into Sherlock’s loose fitting pyjama bottoms. He eased them down over Sherlock’s hips and let them fall to the floor. ““I want to watch you dance,” he whispered. ”Dance for me.” He stepped back and sat down on the sofa.

Sherlock’s gaze locked with John’s for a long moment, then one side of his mouth tilted into a closed-lipped grin. He turned to the desk and touched his phone where it was docked in his sound system. Strains of a violin solo filled the living room. Nude, Sherlock slowly raised his arms to waltz pose, squared his shoulders, and began to waltz in time to the music. He circled the living room slowly, lean muscles moving under pale skin, graceful and lithe. He gave John a smoldering look over his bare shoulder then dropped his lids nearly all the way to dance with a faraway look on his face. The afternoon light caught highlights of chestnut in his mahogany curls as he turned, first presenting his scarred back to John, then his flawless front.

John unbuckled his belt and opened his flies. He slowly stroked the erection he’d freed. “God you’re gorgeous. Like a gazelle.” 

Sherlock smiled and continued to waltz. He rose and fell gracefully, light on his feet and confident in his dancing skill. He made three more graceful circuits of the living room before the music ended. As the last note died away, he turned and walked slowly toward the sofa, stopping between John’s knees. John leaned forward, placed his hands on Sherlock’s waist and pulled Sherlock into his lap. Sherlock’s knees slipped into place to bracket John’s hips as he sat back onto John’s thighs. John’s erection jutted obscenely between them. 

John’s thumbs rubbed small circles on Sherlock’s hip bones. “Beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful. You dance beautifully. Just like every other goddamned amazing thing you do,” John whispered into the skin of Sherlock’s neck. He reached between them, stroking Sherlock to full staff, then pulled him forward by the hips. Finally aligned, John grasped both erections in his hand and stroked slowly.

Sherlock leaned to his right and fumbled with his dressing gown. He drew his hand back with a single-use packet of lubricant; he tore the corner open with his teeth. He squeezed the slick liquid over John’s hand and watched it drip down between his fingers. "Why do have that in your robe pocket? Oh, never mind." John stoked, long and languid, and Sherlock began to roll his hips in time with John’s rhythm. As his cock swelled to full hardness, Sherlock rose to his knees and pulled John’s hand away, lining up his body. 

John gasped against his chest. “Condom, Sherlock.”

“In the bedroom. I don’t get the sense you want to wait for me to fetch one.” Sherlock’s voice was an octave lower than normal. “I’m clean. You ran the test yourself. And you’re a doctor, so I presume you’re clean.”

John’s hands slid around to cup the swell of Sherlock’s buttocks. He mouthed the junction of Sherlock’s shoulder and neck. “Yeah, it’s okay.” He lifted his hips to nudge the crown of his cock into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock groaned and sank an inch lower, sliding John further in. “Are you alright? With no...”

Sherlock cut John off with a moan. “It’s fine.” 

Slowly, Sherlock sank onto John’s erection until he was fully seated, his bollocks pressing against John’s. With a sigh, Sherlock laid his head on John’s shoulder and paused to savor the way John filled him up while John’s hands continued to massage his buttocks.

John turned his head and kissed Sherlock’s forehead sweetly. “You feel amazing. My god, to feel you like this.” John groaned and captured Sherlock’s mouth, kissing him deeply. He groaned when Sherlock began to move, breaking the kiss when Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck.

Their pace built quickly, until Sherlock was huffing each breath and pistoning his thighs and John was snapping his hips up to meet Sherlock’s rhythm. John’s hands roamed Sherlock’s body, stroking and gripping and pinching, and he kept up a steady stream of encouragement. “Watching you dance … so hot … makes me want you … all the time … gorgeous,” until John came with a groan and shudder, stilling and while Sherlock kept up the pace until John finished. Only then did Sherlock settle into John’s lap and stroke himself to his own peak, holding John’s gaze until he came over John’s belly with a groan that echoed John’s. 

Sherlock settled against John, face buried in John’s neck, and remained silent while his breath calmed. John stroked his back, murmuring endearments into Sherlock’s ear. Eventually Sherlock sighed loudly and stood, obviously reluctant to give up John’s closeness. He scrubbed his clean hand through his hair and said, “We’d better get cleaned up and do some actual dance lesson. I really don’t want you to embarrass yourself on the dance floor and we don’t have a lot of time.”

John picked up Sherlock’s tee shirt and swiped at the mess on his belly. “You go on, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Sherlock gave John a small smile and headed toward the bathroom. John watched him go, admiring the fine view of his backside as he walked down the hall. Once Sherlock had closed the door, John let his head fall back against the sofa and sighed sadly. He thought to himself that he should do something about the fucked up situation before he hurt one of the two people he loved most in the world, but wasn’t quite sure what he could do without causing one, two or all three of them pain.


End file.
